As The Shadows Die
by Kaisliana
Summary: “No, Blackie, no. Don’t do this. Don’t leave me,” words tumbled from her lips in vain. Deep down, she knew it was useless. This moment was unavoidable. ...Um...Woot? I just might possibly be back. ....SURPRISE!


As The Shadows Die

_Written by Kaisliana_.

(At 4 in the morning, by the way. Just throwing that out there.)

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Disclaimer: I don't own the world this story takes place in. I just like to have fun with the characters, by making them do naughty things. …No! I jest. But, seriously…or in all seriousness…or whatever, I don't own the Phantom Stallion universe. That honor is Terri Farley's.

Author's Note: Ohmigawd! …Hi. You guys haven't seen me in a while. Like …a long while. I apologize. No, I have no excuse. Other things just took priority over writing. I'm afraid I'm severely out of practice. This little whateveritscalled is crap. At least, I think so. It doesn't help that I typed this little bit up, literally, around 3 or 4 this morning. No Beta. Oh, and did I mention I drank a Redline earlier in the day, let's say…..11 o'clock in the morning. I haven't slept. Or crashed. …I have problems. And I'm exhausted. But thanks to the fkn spider that dropped down from my ceiling around midnight…I have been unable to find solace in my comfy bed, since I'm too afraid to get in it. Fml.

I hope you guys enjoy this. If not, please let me know. It's embarrassing to keep up pieces of fiction that people dislike for its crappiness. ….Okay. Listen. What I'm essentially trying to say is this: IF IT'S CRAP, DON'T HESITATE TO TELL ME SO. Flames don't affect me anymore, since most people don't even know how to throw a proper insult these days. /sigh …So much to teach, so little time to deal with idiots.

ANYWAYS….On with the show. Author's Note regarding WMS at the end.

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He called some 4 hours before the break of dawn.

She didn't bother glancing at the clock as she slipped silently out of her bedroom and down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky one with the ease of much practice; her dad didn't even stir, the steady and familiar rhythm of his snoring didn't falter.

The dog didn't bother to lift his head, though he did wake. One thump of his tail against the porch as she tip-toed past signaled acknowledgement of her late-night adventure. The lid of one eye easily tracked her motion, and slid silently shut after her passing.

Picking her way across the gravel towards the river, she didn't look up. She knew he'd be there, recognized the feeling in her bones and her heart. The connection between them.

Only when she was safely up to her ankles in cold water did she lift her head.

And frowned.

He limped towards her out of the darkness of the trees on three legs, the last cocked at an awkward angle, head down, tail lax. Gravel sprayed as he slipped and barely caughtt himself, but she was already halfway across, despite the chill that had crept its way into her skin. A chill that had little to do with the freezing temperature of the water that now soaked her pajama shorts.

She reached him just as his remaining limbs gave out, and he went down in a shower of tiny rocks and water drops.

Without thinking, her hand found itself on his neck, but he did not flinch.

She dropped down beside him, her other hand tangling itself in his ragged mane, and she ran her fingers tenderly over his face and cupped his muzzle, feeling the velvety softness, and bringing it towards her.

With a heavy sigh that rang of exhaustion and contentment, he allowed his head to fall into her lap, as though he could no longer put forth the effort of holding it upright. Powerful neck muscles tensed and then relaxed, and once more, before going still, and his eyes slid closed.

"Zanzibar," came the tortured whisper, hardly loud enough for even herself to hear it, but he did. Eyes that once seemed like liquid slowly opened, and fixed on her face. A low, throaty neigh rumbled through his chest, and she gasped as she saw that his eyes held no depth, no emotion. Except pain.

"Oh, Zanzibar…"she choked herself off, trying to hold back the sob that threatened to tear its way out of her at the sight of her horse in such pain.

Ivory ears twitched in recognition, and a spark lit in the flat, brown orbs. Another sigh of complete contentment shook them both, and his eyes closed once more.

She was lost. She knew why he'd called her tonight, but couldn't make herself believe it.

With a ragged gasp, she wrapped her arms around his head, and placed her face against his.

"No, Blackie, no. Don't do this. Don't leave me," words tumbled through her lips in vain. Deep down, she knew it was useless. This moment was unavoidable.

Tears of acceptance leaked out from the corners of her misty eyes. She squeezed them shut tightly; knowing that letting them fall would make this all real. She didn't want it to be real. She wasn't ready to say goodbye.

A soft whiny made her open her eyes, and the tears fell, but she hardly noticed. Lifting her head, she looked down into those familiar eyes and instinctively knew what he was trying to tell her.

"It's not fair!" was her heated, though quiet, reply. "I'm not ready. Don't leave me behind."

Another neigh, more stern and demanding this time, told her to stop her nonsense. The time had come, and he'd come to say a proper goodbye to the only human he'd ever loved. He'd come to give her these last few moments, because he loved her, and she loved him, and it would always be that way.

He came to die in her arms.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she hung her head. "I'm going to miss you so much. So, so much. It's going to be hard without you," she pressed her lips to his cheek softly, and trailed her fingers down over his neck to tangle in his mane once more, before tightening her grasp suddenly and burying her face in the warm horseflesh she knew so well.

"I love you," was murmured into the pale folds of skin. One last rumbling whiny was her reply, and it pulled her veins together into a knot at the farewell it held, and the love in it and the pain of it struck her right in the heart, and her fingers curled into fists against him, but he did not move, save for the unsteady rising and falling cause by ragged breaths.

"Goodbye."

And then she cried.

The sun peaked over the mountains, stretching its rosy fingers across the playa. They'd barely touched the roof of the main house when the easily recognizable _clip clop_ of hooves on wood sounded in the yard.

And still, she cried.

He found her there, on the wild side of the river, the once mighty king's head in her lap with the eyes closed peacefully, and her curled around him, as if she could shield him from the coming morning, and keep him in her world by doing so.

"Brat?" Slow, steady steps took him to the edge of the river, and he took in everything there was to take in, knowing exactly what happened as if she'd carved it in the rock. The powerful ribcage had long since become still, and only her shoulders moved, shaking from the tears that hadn't paused since night had reigned.

"Sam."

He splashed his way across the cold water, hardly feeling the biting chill in the anguish he felt at seeing her pain. Large, gentle hands wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her back tenderly. She inhaled sharply through her nose, the noise wet and loud, and her face turned towards him, and his heart nearly stopped at the pain clearly displayed there.

Red, puffy eyes squinted up at him as he took in the glistening, tear-stained cheeks and the quivering lower lip. Her nose ran a little, and tendrils of her hair were stuck to her face, darkened from the moisture.

"Oh, Brat," sympathy filled his voice. She blinked at the words, and then blinked again, her eyes dry from their overuse.

He pulled her towards his chest, away from the still form she'd wrapped herself around, "Come on, Brat. Let's get you inside. You need to sleep," she resisted and he didn't push her.

"I can't leave him."

"He's gone, Sam," her wince made him feel horrible, but she needed to hear, she needed to accept it. "Making yourself sick won't bring him back. You need to take a nice long nap in your comfortable bed, and you can deal with all of this when you wake up," his concern for her was greater than anything at this moment.

A long pause followed, one that she filled with many glances back and forth between her fallen horse and her best friend, before sighing in defeat and placing a final kiss on the Phantom's muzzle. Then she turned her face away.

Holding out her arms towards her friend, she sniffed once and whispered, "Okay. Let's go."

He wrapped gentle hands around her slender arms and pulled towards him delicately. She rose and nearly pitched forward face-first into the river, but he was there. Catching her against his chest, he waited for her to get her legs under her, before turning both of their bodies towards her home. Slowly, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, he guided her back across the river, since she'd refused to let him carry her.

Her pain struck him hard, but he knew it was inevitable. She glanced back many times, but he kept them moving forward at a steady pace, his arm around her shoulders the entire time.

"It's ok, Brat. I'll let Wyatt know. We'll dig him a grave fit for the King of mustangs. We'll take care of it."

As the sun's reaching fingers embraced the main house on River Bend Ranch, engulfing it in its golden light, he helped her up the steps, and opened the door for her, taking only a moment to glance behind them back towards the river, where the sun had gone to work chasing away the clinging darkness.

The body had not moved from where it lay on the wild side of La Charla.

And, as the bright sun fought and won its daily battle against the shadows, Jake Ely sighed deeply.

"Thank you, Jake," came the tiny voice from inside, full of exhaustion.

Jake smiled his trademark lop-sided grin, full of pity for his friend, and dread for the coming day, and followed her into the house, the screen door smacking closed behind him.

And the last of the shadows died.

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Author's Note: Yeah, so that was sad. I'm not going to lie, I _might_ have leaked a few tears in the process of writing this. ..Though, that possibly could have been me mourning my bed. ...But, still.

...Whispers Of A Mourning Sky...I still intend on finishing it. You all have been plenty patient enough already, for which I am deeply grateful. Just … please. A little bit more. That's all I'm asking.

/gets down on knees and begs.

My motivation is shit right now. And my inspiration is right there with it. I just need time. Oh dear lord…The sun is coming up. I think it's time for me to hit the hay …no pun intended. …Lol?


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